The Children Who Live Here are Lucky
by pickle ututtingne
Summary: We steal for a reason. We kill for a reason. To survive. But at I watch these children grow older each day, I realize this may not be the case. (I don't know what genre this even is. Suspense? Tragedy? I'll go for hurt/comfort)


The children who are sent here are lucky, in a way. They grow up strong, independent, and unknowing of the cruelty of people's hearts. I say that because even though we steal from others, we care for each other. We steal for a reason. To _survive_. But at I watch these very children grow older each day, I realize this may not be the case. Each and every one of them are becoming cold-blooded killers, however slowly it may be. I only wish that I could help them, but who would listen to an old woman like me?

This one's name is Uvogin. He is amazingly tall and muscular for his age; perhaps he shall become a physical worker when he is older. In my creaking chair, I watch Uvogin as he walks towards a terrified gang of crooks. I recognize them, the one with black, rugged clothes and a deep shade of red hair is named Buroldo, the other two I believe are Kaile and… Oh, another youth I have yet to identify. They are the ones who stole the fruit from my 'shop' the other day. They had tried to steal from Uvogin, yet had been caught. As Uvogin makes his way to the gang, he cracks his knuckles with a sickening snap before running straight past them. They had not realized it yet, but Uvogin had ripped out their hearts. Spluttering, the three look to their chests to find a rather small gap, and fall. That makes twelve today.

The next is called Machi. Now, she is a beauty. A petite rose with poison on its petals, much too sneaky for the thorn trick. Her tied up hair falls loose as she runs swiftly through the moving crowds. The ribbon flows through the air, until it reaches my feet. As I bend to pick it up, Machi comes flying towards me, picking it up for herself. She tells me not to push myself to hard, and leaves to who-knows-where. Ah, I forgot she was a little kinder than some of the children I have met here. However, getting on the wrong side of her can and will result in death.

Feitan. A mysterious boy who speaks an entirely different language than I, or anyone here in Meteor City, if you could call it that. As a result of this, I had taken the liberty of teaching the rather short boy our language. I doubt I could count on both my hands how many times he had said he gave up and walked off. But each and every time, Feitan came back. Every time he returned, the boy would be more and more determined to learn. I do believe the reason was so he could actually communicate with his best friend, Phinks, who can always be seen towering over Feitan as they walked place to place together. Over the years, I've noticed his attendance would drop, and drop until I was lucky to see him once a month. Any other time I would see him, it would be if Feitan and his friend would buy (or steal) some fruit from my shop. I have not seen him for the past few weeks, but have heard many terrifying stories of his torture victims.

This brings me onto Phinks. I can't really say anything about him, but I'll do what I can. He isn't particularly bright, unless it comes to cooking. Now, I can say that he was exceptionally good at cooking up meals with anything he could find, be it full blooming fruits or the scraps of someone else's meal. Especially for someone who is almost completely self-taught. Every time I saw the boy making something for him and his best friend, I would see his face light up. It really made a difference, seeing as how this whole city was usually dreary and actually quite depressing. However, the happy look on Phink's face has definitely died down. Be it the amount of people he has had to kill because of theft, or just the general feel of this horrid place, the sadness I can see in his eyes is very visible, to me at least. But mixed with the sadness, there lies a vicious, almost animal-like look of which I hope I never face.

**I shall do the rest of the Meteor City residents later. Goodbye! **


End file.
